


Desperation

by TheFlirtMeister



Category: IT (1990)
Genre: M/M, Random Encounters, References to Addiction, References to Drugs, Vomiting, adult reddie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 14:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13572387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFlirtMeister/pseuds/TheFlirtMeister
Summary: “You can’t just throw up in my front garden.” He tells him, and Richie sways where he stands. “This is private property.”“Fuck off.” Richie says.1990 AU.





	Desperation

Eddie opens his front door in the middle of the night to find Richie Tozier, talk show host and stand-up comedian, vomiting on his front lawn. Eddie stands there for a moment, both horrified and star-struck, and then marches himself towards Mr Tozier.

“Hey!” He calls, “Hey!”

Richie wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and raises his head to look at Eddie. There is vomit caught in his moustache, glistening in the light of the streetlamps, and his pupils are blown wide. Eddie feels like he’s looking down the barrel of a loaded gun, and it makes him falter, if for a moment.

“You can’t just throw up in my front garden.” He tells him, and Richie sways where he stands. “This is private property.”

“Fuck off.” Richie says.

Eddie bristles. “You fuck off.” He says. “Where have you even _come_ from?”

Richie waves a hand in the direction of town. “Thatta way.”

“Have you been doing a gig? Or an interview?” Eddie presses, because there’s been nothing in the local paper.

“The fucking-“ Richie waves his hand more persistently. “The bar.”

“The bar?” Eddie repeats, and then blinks. “You’ve been at Rev’s?”

Revelation is the town’s famous gay bar. Eddie has only been there once or twice, with Ben dragging him there both times. Ben always ended up going home with someone, and Eddie always ended up going home alone, to his mother.

Speaking of, Eddie turned back towards the house. The only lights on are the ones in the hallway, which Eddie turned on himself when he heard noises outside. His mother, Sonia, still seems to be sleeping through this. Thank goodness for small mercies.

“There was a….” Richie trailed off, and then remembered his train of thought. “A boy.”

“A boy?” Eddie repeats, realising he has the biggest scoop of the decade standing on his front lawn, covered in vomit.

“Yeah.” Richie nods sagely, and then looks Eddie up and down. “You’re not too…. bad looking yourself.”

Eddie flushes. “Thank you.” He says.

“No problemo.” Richie says, “Has anyone told you that- that your hair looks like spaghetti?”

“Never before.” Eddie says, and Richie opens his mouth to speak, but instead throws up again. Eddie leaps out of the way, cringing as Richie covers his expensive looking shoes with sick.

“Uh,” Eddie says, and pats Richie on the shoulder. “Is there someone I can call? To take your home?”

Richie gurgles something in reply. Eddie feels like throwing up as well. It’s a pavlovian response almost, someone throws up around him, and Eddie instantly wants to throw up as well. Not that he hasn’t had enough practise, having spent his entire childhood suffering bilious attacks.

Richie fumbles into his jacket pocket for something, and Eddie takes another step back. He’s worried it’s going to be a condom, or poppers, or something else drug-like. Instead, it’s a mobile phone, one of the smartphone ones that Eddie doesn’t know how to use.

“Here,” Richie says, after spitting onto the ground. “Call Stan.”

“What?” Eddie says.

“Call Stan.” Richie repeats louder, and the phone starts ringing merrily.

Richie forces the phone into Eddie’s hand, and Eddie stares down at the vibrating rectangle in his palm. Richie continues bending over, and Eddie watches in almost sick fascination as sick dribbles from his mouth.

“Hello?” The phone says. “Richie? Why the hell are you calling me? What have you done now?”

Eddie quickly brings the phone up to his ear. “Hello?” He asks, and there’s an intake of breath from the other end.

“Who are you?” The voice, who must be Stan, says.

“I’m…. Edward.” Eddie says, “Mr Tozier is currently unwell, and he told me to call you.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Stan says. “Right. Are you a twink he’s picked up from a club, or a hapless bystander?”

“Bystander.” Eddie says, “Uh, can you come and collect him please? He’s ruining my front garden with his vomit.”

“Christ.” Stan sighs. “Right, I’m on my way. What’s your address?”

Eddie reels off his address and postcode, all the while keeping a careful eye on Richie. He can hear Stan scribbling down the address on a pad of paper, muttering to himself all the while.

“I’ll be there as quick as I can.” Stan says. “Give him some water and I promise he’ll pay for any damages.”

“Thank you.” Eddie says, “By the way, I think he’s, uh, taken something. His pupils are very big.”

“That’ll be the cocaine.” Stan says, as if that’s perfectly normal. “Just, keep an eye on him, okay?”

“I will.” Eddie promises, and Stan hangs up the phone.

Richie, meanwhile, has stopped throwing up. He’s staring at Eddie with an interested expression, that could almost be constructed as hunger. He also seems to have sobered up quite a lot. Eddie can feel his cheeks heating up again, and he hands Richie back his phone.

“Stan is on his way.” He says, wondering if Stan is a bodyguard or a manager.

“Good old Stan.” Richie says, tilting his head back and staring up at the stars. “God he must hate me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Eddie says, and then looks towards the front door. “Do you want to come inside? I could fetch you some water?”

“I don’t deserve water.” Richie says, and Eddie raises his eyebrow.

“I didn’t realise you were so melodramatic.” He says. “Come on. You can wash your mouth out, I bet it tastes disgusting.”

Richie shoves his hands into his pockets and then nods. “Okay then.”

Eddie leads Richie inside the house, closing the door gently behind him. He takes Richie into the kitchen, switching on the light and illuminating the small room. Richie looks about the place with a bemused expression, and then takes a seat at the table.

“Which mug would you like?” Eddie asks. “One with a clown or one with a dog?”

Richie shudders. “Dog. Please.”

Eddie fills up the mug with cold water from the tap and sets it in front of Richie. He then fetches a bucket from underneath the sink, and places it next to Richie, just in case he needs it.

“You’re being very nice to me.” Richie says.

“I couldn’t have just left you out there alone.” Eddie says, “You were being sick in my begonias.”

Richie was taking a drink of water as Eddie said that, and ends up spluttering it out. Eddie felt himself smiling, and quickly looked down at the floor to stop himself.  

“Fuck.” Richie says, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s no problem.” Eddie says, and takes a seat opposite Richie. “Gives me something to do tomorrow.”

“I can send you a gardener over.” Richie says. “I have the money.”

“It’s not about money.” Eddie says, and takes a sip of water from his own mug.

“Sorry.” Richie says again. He buries his head in his hands, and then suddenly jerks upwards, almost knocking his mug over. “Shit, are you going to the papers with this?”

“Why would I go to the papers?” Eddie asks, moving the water out of harm’s way.

“Because I’m a fag.” Richie says, the word coming easily from his mouth. Eddie blinks, hurt a little, even if Richie is using the word to describe himself.

“I’m not going to tell anyone.” Eddie promises.

Richie narrows his eyes at him. “Why?”

“It’s not my business to tell.” Eddie says. “I don’t care what you do in your private life, as long as you’re not hurting anyone.”

“I’m sure most people would say I was hurting other boys by being gay.” Richie says. “Didn’t you know we’re all molesting communist paedofiles?”

“You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“It’s true.” Richie says, and then runs a hand through his hair. “Shit, I’m in a lot of trouble.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything to that. Instead he traces the woodgrain in the table with his index finger slowly, feeling the grooves beneath his skin. They are both silent for a very long time.

“Did I wake you up?” Richie asks.

“No.” Eddie says, “I was already awake.”

He’d been creeping downstairs to find something in the kitchen when he’d heard the front gate swing open and closed. For one heart stopping moment, he thought it had been Adrian Mellon, come back to haunt him, and then he had heard the vomiting, and gone out to investigate.

“You can apologise to your wife in the morning.” Richie says, which startles Eddie. “For keeping you awake.”

“I don’t have a wife.” Eddie says.

“Oh?” Richie blinks, “There was a picture of a woman on the wall as we came in, I assumed….”

“That’s an old picture of my mother.” Eddie says, “She’s upstairs, in bed.”

The picture was taken of Sonia back in 1940, when she was thin and pretty. She’s half turned towards the camera, smiling coyly, and it makes Eddie happy to know his father was the one taking the photograph. He wonders what his mother would have been like, if his father hadn’t passed away.

“She was pretty.” Richie says.

“Yeah, she was.” Eddie replies, and drains his water. “So, did you just come here for Rev’s, or some other business.”

“I was doing a gig in the next town over.” Richie says, “I thought I should check out the local nightlife though.”

“We don’t have much.” Eddie says, “I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologise.” Richie says, his lips quirking into a smile. “The bar was good enough.”

Eddie smiles back. “The cocktails are expensive there.”

“Aren’t they just?!” Richie says, and gives a bark of amusement. “God, I spent the money I got from the gig just buying myself drinks.”

“Was anyone performing there tonight?”

“There was a drag show, but I missed it.” Richie says, and then looks at Eddie curiously. “Are you, you know? A queer?”

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek. “I’m gay, yes.” He says finally.

“That explains how you knew the bar.” Richie nods sagely.

“Everyone here knows the bar.” Eddie says, “Gay or straight.”

“Even your mother?” Richie asks, teasing.

“Even my mother.” Eddie replies, and he’s smiling back. “Although she pretends she doesn’t.”

“Ah, she’s one of those.” Richie says, pulling a face. “Worst luck.”

“Yeah.” Eddie says, and Richie jolts suddenly. “What?”

“I don’t know your name!” He says. “Obviously you know me, who doesn’t, but I have no fucking clue who you are.”

“Oh, I’m not important.” Eddie says, and Richie raises an eyebrow.

“Yes you are.” He says, and prods Eddie in the arm. “What’s your name?”

“Eddie.” Eddie says, “Kaspbrak.”

Richie reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Here,” He says, “Type in your number.”

“Why?” Eddie says, taking the phone and adding his number into the contact screen.

“Because I want your number.” Richie says with a wink, and Eddie’s cheeks flush.

“You’re very smooth.” He says, “Does it work on all the boys?”

“Most of the time.” Richie says, grinning, as there’s a knock at the door.

“Oh!” Eddie says, scraping his chair back to go answer it. “I hope that’s your friend Stan, and not a lunatic.”

“Would you consider me a lunatic?” Richie asks.

“Yes.” Eddie replies, and leaves the room.

Stan, it turns out, has an almost identical moustache to Richie. He looks incredibly tired when Eddie opens the door to him, but tries to disguise it with a smile.

“Hey!” He says, “Richie’s caretaker I presume?”

“That’s me.” Eddie says, opening the door a little wider. “I’m Edward.”

“Sorry about this.” Stan apologises, stepping over the threshold. “I’ll pay you for any damages.”

“It’s fine, I promise.” Eddie says, leading Stan down the hall towards the kitchen. “He’s just in here.”

Stan steps into the kitchen and glares at Richie. “If I had something to throw at you I would.” He says, “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking, _I like alcohol and I like men_.” Richie replies, giving Stan a little wave. “And then I carried out my desires.”

“Fucking moron.” Stan says, but there’s fondness in his words. He turns back to Eddie and then looks him up and down. “Hey, are you sure this isn’t just a twink that you picked up at the bar?”

“Stanley Uris, apologise at once.” Richie says with a gasp. “This man has been very kind to me. I owe him my life.”

Stan and Eddie exchange glances. Stan raises his eyebrow. Eddie gives a small shrug.

“Come on then, you lump.” Stan kicks Richie’s leg. “I’ve got the car waiting. I can take you back to the hotel and make you sleep.”

“You’re the best of friends.” Richie says, standing up, and Stan sighs.

“Yeah, I know.” He says. “Say goodbye to the nice man now.”

“Goodbye Eddie.” Richie says, and holds out his hand. Eddie takes it, and they shake. “I’ll see you around sometime? I’ll give you a free ticket to one of my shows.”

“It’s no problem-“ Eddie starts, but Richie interrupts.

“Please. Let me give you _something_.”

Eddie hesitates for a second and then nods. “Okay then.” He says, and Richie squeezes his hand before letting go.

Eddie walks them to the front door, and then watches from the front step as Stan bundles Richie into the car. Richie is talking to Stan throughout, chattering on about something, and Stan seems to be nodding in all the right places as he shoves Richie into the backseat.

“Goodbye!” Richie calls, just before Stan shuts the door on him.

“Goodbye!” Eddie replies, giving a little wave, and the door slamming shut makes him jump.

Eddie watches them drive away, leaning against the doorframe and staring out into the distance until the backlights of the car disappear into the darkness. He stays there for a while, listening to his own breathing, and the faint sounds of the city, before he turns around and walks inside.

Richie Tozier. What an interesting man.

 

**Author's Note:**

> comment and richie tozier will throw up on ur front lawn in the middle of the night


End file.
